


Five Times Voldemort Saw His Soulmate (Through Another’s Eyes)

by haygahr, NaoNazo



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Waste Land - T. S. Eliot
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deatheater Ikea, Elmoonfire.gif @god, M/M, Soulmarks, Soulmates, What Hath Chad Wrought?, fun dialogue tags only!, many synonyms, never use said, this is not a place of honor. no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haygahr/pseuds/haygahr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaoNazo/pseuds/NaoNazo
Summary: Whoops we forgot to make a summary!Nothing can prepare you for this.*author peaces out in a puff of smoke*
Relationships: Kreacher/Harry’s Scar, Voldemort/Kreacher
Comments: 37
Kudos: 38





	Five Times Voldemort Saw His Soulmate (Through Another’s Eyes)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [snipers solve 99% of all problems](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20644262) by [silentwalrus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentwalrus/pseuds/silentwalrus). 



> Hold on to your butts, boys. We’re back in town. 
> 
> Really, what else to say? Uhh. Once there was a fanfic, that fanfic spawned a discord server. That discord server spawned things never before seen by god nor man. 
> 
> Two old friends got quarantined together. 
> 
> And like vinegar and baking soda and pink food dye make a volcano of pesto-bismol vomit, this happened.  
> Xoxo Gossip Girl

ONE

Voldemort woke up, gasping. His sheets were sticky. This hadn’t happened since he was a teenager. He tried to remember where he was but the green, snakey draperies provided no clue whatsoever. FRUDJKHUHL death eater much?

The dream faded, mostly, but Voldemort still raised a hand to the center of his face, and then forced himself to lower it. He forced back tears. 

Once, he’d had a beautiful soul mark, of a nose on his nose. Coincidences like this meant that you were even more soulmated than normal soulmates. 

He hadn’t seen his soulmark since that fateful day, fifteen years ago, when he visited the house of his enemies and was exploded into soul dust. Still, in that last glimpse he’d caught, reflected in Lily Potter’s death-chilled eyes, he could clearly distinguish the outline of a bulbous, hooked nose stamped across the bridge of his face.

He almost remembered finally seeing the vision of that nose in his dream, and the feelings it brought up inside him. Cheerio! It seemed impossible that he could forget that quickly.

But he was still a supervillain and had a busy day of evil ahead. Time to get moving!

TWO

The next time he saw his love, it was when he was checking on that little asshole, Harry Potter. God, chosen ones were so annoying. All that teenage angst. Any time he tuned in to that pubescent boy’s mental channels it was like trying to swim in a sewer, dodging clogs of ineffectual rage, sexual confusion and golden shower fantasies. I mean really, could you be more predictable?

He’d had to search up golden shower fetish on the muggle search engine, the doodle. It was disgusting. At least have snake fetishes like a NORMAL person.

At least the kid was giving him some computer skills. Maybe if his big, take-over-the-world career flopped again he could be a tech wizard!

Anyway, he was surfing Potter radio when suddenly!

Out of nowhere!

Out of nowhere, he felt a breeze near his ankles. He looked down, and there was the vision, from his dream, of his soulmate, of course! Tantalizingly half hidden by his pillowcase, its head just shyly peeking out, swinging gently with every step his soulmate took, his wingwang! His soulmate was so beautiful, he might have just been made out of many pointy clunge-plumbers glued together with happy juice. His ears were like dingles, his beautiful nose was a joy-snake at coy half-mast, and most gorgeous of all was his primary meat pillar rising like the sun, almost as if it knew! To greet Voldy. 

His beloved looked down with an expression of horror, and then up at that little shit HP. His gorgeous, limpid eyes like big oval puddles of white pus widened, and his beautiful sharp teeth came out. Voldy had an intense vision of what those would feel like clamped around his… you know. Maybe, if he was lucky enough--

He had to cut off that train of thought before HIS under-stairs resident came out from hiding. 

“My Lord,” murmured that sexy piece of work, Lucius. I mean, his parents must have had some serious Ideas about how their child would work a pole, if you know what I mean. Unf!

“M-Master Potter?” Voldemort almost came then and there at hearing such a fine, wrinkly-dug’d piece of work call him master. It was such a strong reaction that Voldemort peed a little, and almost lost control. Harry Potter wasn’t supposed to know he was a remote-control boat for Reptilian Anti-Jesus. 

He put his hand on Little Riddle and pushed him back into place, then locked eyes with Luscious. “Yeah, bitch, you know what you do to me.”

Oh, whoops, did he just intone that out loud?

“Master?” Cried Luscious and all of a sudden Voldy was angry at his sexy big forehead. The Victorians had that right, but it was so much less enticing than the wrinkly, bristled scalp of his soulmate. What a hussy. 

“Leave me, Malfoy,” intoned Voldemort, and Malfoy scuttled back like a crab that didn’t see the sun very much. 

In his last moments of waning control, Voldemort sent a tentacle of soul power to his mark on The Chosen Brat’s forehead and watched as the eye orbs of his beloved ping-ponged upwards. 

THREE

HRnnnnnnnngh.

Kreacher grabbed Creature Comfort, his house elf wand and tugged hard. His fingers barely reached all the way around (his purple pistol) and usually he jacked off with two hands. He had heard that among humans a large honkadoodle was considered a good thing, but it had always made Kreacher the uncool kid to the other house elves. They never once let him play with their reindeer games. At least those bitches were all mounted heads now. Kreacher won last place.

He almost missed it. They never knew about his spy hole in the wall, and things really got hot and heavy in the air ducts. Sometimes whatever her name was, that old lady complained about the smell but he always just brushed it off, squeaking that it was the mice fucking in the walls. 

By the time the air duct where he hid was too full of encrusted fuck juice for any air to get through, that solved the problem pretty well, anyway. Didn’t make his balls any less blue, but when old lady found the mess, he got to blame it on the orgy and lop lop, no more problem for Kreacher.

He’d never felt such a rush of sexual energy before, not until now when that little half blood fucker Harry Potter stared at him. If Harry Potter was supposed to be his soulmate Kreacher might as well bite his own cockhead off right now. 

But he was pretty sure it wasn’t harry. He had a big snake nose soul mark on his nose, and harry had one of those boring-ass tattoos of a homemade sweater on his ass. Not that Kreacher had been looking. Most of the air ducts were still only cankle-deep in Kreacher sauce since that fucking demon twink had redone the house. Granted the dust was still pretty thick in the air. He’d heard Demon Twink asking where it was all coming from and why its molecular structure (whatever that was) seemed to indicate it was organic. 

One of the other freaky aliens, the one that looked like a marshmallow stress ball with a toupe on top said that Ed must not have been exploring himself enough, and the demon twink “you’re such a nun, you don’t even know that sounded dirty.”

Kreacher weren’t no dumb bunny. (That was only once, and it was Halloween). He knew Harry Potter wasn’t his god damn soulmate. But somehow, the scar on his forehead had an….. allure, like a fresh baked chocolate chip cookie for his penis. 

Even now, he could vaguely sense it in the house-- his iron-hard dingle was pointing due south.

“C’mon baby,” scratched Kreacher, and came. 

That decided it, then. Since the old lady had decapitated all his friends he hadn’t been able to get hard for nothing. He was gonna separate the creme from the riding crop.

Knife in hand (other knife), Kreacher mounted the stairs. 


End file.
